Bleed Me Dry
by Write Here2
Summary: One small mistake off-world threatens Beckett's life and his sanity. Can the team save him?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - OK, this story is a bit of an experiment, because I've pretty much given up on writing fanfic to cocentrate on my own piece. Though I do hope to finish my other stories. Anyways, I've never written anything for Stargate Atlantis before, so it's a little odd trying to adjust to it. Carson's obviously my favourite character, so I thought I'd give this story a go. Hope you like it. Constructive criticism very welcome - please review!

* * *

Carson leant against the balcony railings, savoring the open air. The cellular degradation had already been halted by aggressive treatment. He had worked feverishly on Earth, in every spare moment, just as Keller had on Atlantis. His return had been at her insistence. She had wanted to monitor his progress, and until today, had barely let the city's former CMO out of her sight. In retrospect, Carson supposed that he should feel bad for abandoning the infirmary the moment her back was turned. Keller would be furious at him. Though he was, by and large, recovered, there were any number of possible side effects that they had both considered. Not least of which was a rapid backslide.

The doctor couldn't find it in himself to care as he gazed onto the calm waters surrounding Atlantis. This was home now. Carson took a deep breath. Fresh air filled his lungs. It felt as though his chest would burst with relief. Three months on Earth had translated into three months inside Cheyenne Mountain, staring at slate-gray walls.

Wind whipped through his hair, pulling tufts from side to side. It felt good to be back. A sharp anxiety which had plagued him since his departure to Earth those months ago had retreated to the edges of his consciousness. Carson supposed those feelings were natural, given his brush with death. Tears filled the corners of his eyes. He ran through a mental list of the names of the dead. There had been so many he had not known about – Elizabeth, for one.

The balcony was dark, and blessedly quiet. He had sought it out before, a long time ago. Back when there had only been the original Carson Beckett. The doctor waited for a swell of bitterness, and was surprised when it did not arrive. This was his first sight of the outside world – any outside world – in three months. And by God, it was beautiful. His brief smile faltered as Carson thought of Keller. He glanced down at his scrubs. It was cold out here, and they offered little protection against the wind. Carson was ready to turn back when a familiarly skittish voice interrupted his peace and quiet.

"Carson? What the hell are you doing out here?" McKay asked bluntly.

He jolted, at the sudden noise. "I was just getting some air, Rodney."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Carson knew they were not enough. McKay's eyes narrowed. He made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a snort, before grabbing his best friend's elbow. The doctor allowed himself to be lead back inside. He listened all the while to McKay's constant chatter.

"-you're freezing, Carson, maybe you need to go back to the infirmary."

He stopped short, surprising McKay. "No."

"No? Why not?" McKay asked. "It's like…uh… a holy place for you, or something."

"Not anymore." Carson said.

To his credit, the physicist said nothing. He shot his friend a concerned look, and dragged him back inside. It was only as they passed by the third or fourth window that Carson noticed the sky starting to lighten. He wondered how long he had been standing on that balcony.

"Keller's gonna be mad at you." He said.

Carson's watery smile returned. "Aye. Probably."

"Hypocrite."

McKay's childish retort provoked a small laugh from Beckett. He turned to his friend, who wore a worried expression. The doctor resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I just wanted some air, Rodney. I've been stuck underground."

"Yeah." The physicist said, in a surprisingly soft voice. "For what, over two years?"

The insight jolted Carson. He looked away sharply. The memory of Rodney's halting explanation – of his story about the other Carson Beckett – was still too fresh.

"For a while." He conceded. "Longer than I'd have liked."

"So – you hungry?" McKay said. He waited for a response and sighed irritably. "Carson. Come on, before Conan and Kirk get all the good stuff."

It was only then that Carson noticed they were headed toward the mess hall. His faint smile returned at the sound of McKay's all-too-familiar complaints.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Am still finding this incredibly difficult to write, so any constructive criticism you can offer would be great. Otherwise, please read and enjoy. Oh, and you'll be pleased to know I have worked out most of the plot now.. Well, the important bits, anyway. I'm not very good at planning...

* * *

He ran a tired hand over his face. The personnel files were not helping. Both thick, and full largely of commendations, they sometimes read like storybooks. Woolsey tossed the files down onto a low table, and closed his eyes. He had retreated to his quarters after noise from repairs to the gate room had proved too much. In reality, the move had made no difference at all.

There was a difficult choice facing the city's leader, and it weighed heavily on his shoulders. He knew that Beckett was trustworthy – insofar as he knew anybody on Atlantis was trustworthy. Reading mission reports about personnel being taken over by alien minds was enough to make you doubt everybody in the city. But Beckett was a good man. To all intents and purposes, the same one who had been killed by an explosion less than a year before.

The fact remained though that he was not the same man, though this was not the issue causing Woolsey the most difficulty. He tapped his pen against his teeth. Too often in the past few months, Richard Woolsey had found himself agonizing over decisions which would once have been easy to make. Atlantis changed you. Whether it was for the better, he could not be sure.

The issue that was a real burden for him was where Carson Beckett would fit into Atlantis now. A doctor of his caliber could be invaluable, particularly with the Wraith and Michael's forces presenting a war on two fronts. However, he had once been CMO of the city, and could not now take that position. Keller had done too good a job. Woolsey couldn't waste the affable Scot as a staff doctor. It was a waste of resources.

A loud beep announced someone's arrival at his door. Woolsey sat up, relieved to be interrupted.

"Come in." he said sharply.

Colonel Sheppard poked his head round the door. "I looked for you in your office…"

"It was a little loud."

The pilot nodded. "Things can get a little crazy round here." He flopped down into a spare chair, then seemed to realize where he was. Sheppard sat up straight. "Uh – you mind?"

"By all means, Colonel. How can I help you?"

Woolsey waited as the city's military leader fidgeted awkwardly. He liked Sheppard, despite all that should have encouraged him not to. At times like this though, it amazed the civilian leader that the younger man was such a gifted soldier. He looked like nothing more than an uncomfortable little boy.

"It's about Carson." He said.

That got Woolsey's attention. He leant forward, eager to hear anything that might help him solve his current problem. He hoped fervently that his military counterpart had a solution.

"I was thinking – y'know, Keller's doing a good job, but she's – not so hot on some of the research as he is."

Offering Beckett a research position was one solution that had already been considered and discarded, for the sole reason that it was both a great use and a terrible waste of the doctor's talents. They couldn't afford to do it.

Sheppard must have picked up on Woolsey's resistance, because he held up a hand. "I know, Beckett's too good to leave in a lab. So I thought, we could take him off-world more often. That way, our CMO is on Atlantis as much as possible."

Woolsey sat back, considering the idea. "I was lead to believe that Doctor Beckett is uncomfortable in the field."

"Oh he is."

Sheppard began to explain the idea in more detail. Essentially, Beckett would be subordinate to Keller, who would spend less time off-world in these increasingly dangerous times. Whilst in Atlantis, he would take regular infirmary shifts, and spend time on research. Off-world, he would form an important part of a specialist team. Woolsey found himself sitting forward again, scribbling notes on a piece of paper. He smiled inwardly. This was exactly the sort of resolution to the "Beckett situation" that Woolsey had been looking for. And if he had his measure of Keller right, she would be eager to work alongside someone like Beckett.

The pilot slumped back in his chair suddenly. "We can't give him back his infirmary. Keller's too good. This is our best option."

Woolsey capped his pen. "I am inclined to agree with you, Colonel. I'll meet with Doctor Keller tomorrow to discuss the details." He said. "Please, don't say anything to Doctor Beckett."

Sheppard got up, and offered a brief flash of a smile. "Won't hear about this from me."

* * *

Rodney chewed thoughtfully on a piece of buttered toast. He and Carson had enjoyed a good breakfast. The old smile had started to reappear, buoyed by friendly greetings from scientists and marines. It was almost like old times. Then Keller had appeared. She had been furious. Still, the physicist mused, it had been worth it.

"You gonna eat that?"

He glanced up at Ronan, as he and Teyla settled down with their own breakfasts. Rodney drew his plate closer. "Yes."

"Did you succeed in finding Doctor Beckett?" Teyla asked.

The physicist nodded. "He was standing on the balcony. Wanted some fresh air."

"You are concerned."

Rodney shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was disquieting to think that he was so easy for Teyla to read. But it was true, and no doubt she was also concerned. He knew that she felt uncomfortable around this Carson. The reality that he was a clone did not sit well with the Athosian. Rodney also knew that she would get over it, given time.

They had discussed what it would be like when Carson finally returned to Atlantis. This wasn't it. This strange limbo, where they waited to see if he would be sent back to Earth once again, was not what they had bargained for. Rodney was reminded painfully of the moment he had been forced to tell Carson that they had not been looking for him.

"He'll be fine." Ronan said.

The Satedan seemed less disturbed by all of this than the rest of them. The quiet, pensive Beckett who had come back to them from Earth did not seem to worry him. McKay found himself wondering if Ronan actually preferred their friend this way.

He began to speak, ready to ask, but was drowned out by Sheppard crashing into the table's last empty seat. The pilot seemed tired. He had been a lot lately, though that tiredness was tinged with something else now. He looked triumphant and relieved, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Why are you so happy?"

Sheppard grinned. "Because, Rodney, I have been talking to Woolsey."

"And that's a good thing, how?"

With an exaggerated glance over each shoulder, Sheppard beckoned them to listen closer. The other three listened carefully as he recanted his discussion with Woolsey. When he was finished, Sheppard waited anxiously. If these three people did not approve, then it was unlikely that Beckett would take to the idea.

"I'm not sure I want Beckett as a field medic-" Rodney waved away Sheppard's protests that it was a little more complicated than that –"but, not bad."

"Yeah. Doc might have something to say about going off-world." Ronan said.

"Never mind that. Have you seen him? He hates the stargate! He hates other planets."

Sheppard leant back lazily. He shut out the babbling sound of Rodney's voice and ran over the breakfast choices in his head.


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER – Not mine.

A/N – OK, this chapter came along relatively easily, although it's not really in the meat of the story yet. Sorry, this seems to be a bit of slow-burn. Hope you are enjoying it – any suggestions for improvement are welcome. I will also take into consideration anything you might want to see in the story, though I don't promise to include it! I have a vague (very!) outline for the story, but some elements have still to be played around with. Anyways, enjoy this chapter and please review.

* * *

In the end, though Rodney and Ronan had been right about his reluctance to accept a field role, Beckett's eagerness to remain on Atlantis won out. He had spent several days going over his new responsibilities with Sheppard and Lorne. They had decided that though he would largely be attached to SGA-1, Beckett's services would also be leant to other teams, depending on demand. The rest of his time had been divided between rudimentary combat training, hashing out the fine details of his new job with Woolsey and making sure that an understanding was clear between Keller and himself. It hadn't been the awkward stumbling block he had expected.

Beckett winced, and rolled his shoulder. Thinking of Keller had reminded him that the combat training was tougher than he expected. He distracted himself by gazing out to sea, but knew he would have to visit the infirmary later. He'd promised Ronan, after all. They had finished the day's work with an attempt at some form of martial arts that Beckett did not recognize. Of course, he had spectacularly lost, but there had definitely been a marked improvement from the last time they'd tried it.

"Hey."

The soft voice was unexpected. Beckett jumped. He turned, his heart thudding in his chest. Rodney stood uncertainly in the doorway, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. Beckett's tensed shoulders screamed at him.

"Rodney." He said.

The physicist took it as an invitation to step outside, but edged out slowly. "I saw you out here, and I thought –" he paused –"I thought maybe, did you have dinner yet?"

A heavy silence fell over the balcony. Beckett closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wouldn't say that he enjoyed these quiet moments, watching the dark sea tossing waves and rolling against the city, but it centred him somehow, in a way he didn't fully understand. His eyes opened again, to see Rodney directly next to him. Beckett jumped, and scowled at his best friend.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Rodney?"

"I called you." He said. "Twice. You didn't answer."

"Yes, well, maybe you should take that as a sign." Beckett said.

"Carson-"

"I just want some peace and quiet."

Rodney fell silent, but the relative peace that had enveloped the doctor before would not return. Sensing it was gone for the night, he sighed, letting his shoulders slump. He turned to Rodney, and gestured to the door.

"Y'said something about dinner?"

The physicist's face lit up. "They have fresh supplies. Macaroni cheese tonight, and apple pie. No citrus at all."

He kept up the chatter as they walked to the mess hall. Beckett allowed himself to be lead, aware that Rodney liked to feel he was making a difference – however much he sometimes protested otherwise. Before the Scot realised it, they were sitting down with full trays, at a table with Teyla, Ronan, Sheppard and Lorne.

"Doc, you in there?"

Beckett looked up, startled, to find Sheppard staring at him. "Oh – sorry." He said. "Just a wee bit tired."

Lorne nodded. "He did well on the run today."

Ronan pitched in then, describing the various things they had worked on – much to Sheppard's obvious pleasure. He had always wanted the doctor to become more proficient with military things. The conversation faded away from Beckett. He let his mind wander, as he stared down into the congealing mass of macaroni on his plate.

"Doc? Beckett?"

He looked up, feeling old and tired well beyond his years. "Aye?"

Sheppard looked worried. "You alright?" he asked hesitantly.

"Aye."

"Maybe we should run five minutes less tomorrow." Lorne offered. He glanced sideways at his superior officer, as if checking with him.

Beckett tried to brighten at that. "That's not a bad idea, son. I'm about ready to drop."

"I could change the routine." Ronan said. It was a great concession for a man who had seemed to take the doctor's combat training personally.

"I'd appreciate it."

They seemed happy to accept that tiredness was at the bottom of Beckett's inattentiveness, and the doctor himself found that a reasonable explanation. The last time he had been this tired, he had been dying. A spark of fear was quickly quashed. His cells were stable now. He was safe. It was just that the military training he had taken on was well beyond what Beckett the CMO and Beckett the Atlantean prisoner had been used to. He smiled at that, cheered by the thought that soon the weariness endlessly taking grip in his bones would let up.

Sheppard drained his cup of pseudo-coffee and sat back with a pensive look on his face. SGA-1's mission the following day was supposed to be a simple meet-and-greet, but they had encountered trouble on dozens of similar trips. He looked at each of his team-members, reminding himself that they were all of them prepared.

They were lucky. Lorne's team, and three others besides, were being sent to an uninhabited planet to carry out practice manouevres. Three days of misery. Sheppard shuddered, remembering his basic training. The weather on that planet was due to be terrible – partly why they had chosen it, in truth. Lorne had used the training as an excuse to retire early. Sheppard hadn't missed that the Major's exit had offered Beckett an out as well. Lorne was much better at diplomacy than he had ever been.

"Is Carson really getting better at all this military stuff?" Rodney asked, spearing a piece of orangey-purple fruit. It tasted faintly of rubber, but was apparently nutritious.

Ronan shrugged. "Yeah."

"Yeah? I ask you an important question, and you offer me 'yeah'?"

"He's getting much better."

"How much better?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Better than you, McKay."

"Really?" the physicist frowned. "How much better than me? Not that it matters."

Ronan leant forward. "The doc is pretty good. Considering." He said, swiping two segments of Rodney's mystery fruit. "Give me a couple more months, he'll be ready."

"We don't have a couple more months, Ronan." Sheppard said. "Anyway, we're not trying to make him into a soldier. Just – make him prepared."

The Satedan grunted. It was as close as he would come to conceding the point. "Then he's prepared."


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER – Not mine.

A/N – Thanks to one kind reviewer, who pointed out my spelling mistake! As I wrote to you – I knew I was getting something wrong, I just couldn't work out what it was. Anyway, here is the next installment. I hope you all enjoy it. Review, please!!

Oh, if anyone wants to know the source of the name Penraith, I believe it's a Welsh surname. Also, it sounds like Penrith, which could be a Welsh town, if my appalling geography has not failed me.

* * *

It was times like this that Lorne would be willing to kill for a cushion. Even a thick rug would have done. He shifted uncomfortably on the thin wooden plank that served as a bench. It was one of a series of benches, surrounding a large fire-pit. His team were seated along one side, flanked by the elders of the village. Opposite them, the younger members of the village tried to pay attention. Evidently, the Major noted with amusement, teenagers were not so different in the Pegasus Galaxy.

He shifted again, trying to find a spot that didn't make his backside go numb. The edginess that had plagued Lorne since stepping foot on the plant wasn't helping. He glanced sideways at Beckett. It was the man's first off-world mission since returning to Atlantis. Lorne had taken part in re-training him, but had still expected some nerves. There had been none. His steps had been confident; his grip on his P90 assured.

"Major, this is unbearable." Olivier whined.

"Shut up and _bear_ it, Marine. The rest of us have to."

They had stumbled into the locals almost as soon as they had stepped through the stargate. Two of the youngsters from the village had been out picking berries.

"I can't feel my right thigh."

Lorne ignored the young Marine. He focused on the heavy plates that were being handed round towards them. Suddenly all his unease was forgotten, replaced by the need to satisfy an angry stomach.

"Seriously, there's no feeling in it at all."

A muffled thump, followed by muffled cursing, was caught on Lorne's radar. He glared at his men. They needed to relearn how to behave at first contact meetings. Lorne felt his edginess creep back. He sighed. He had the feeling that it was directly connected to Beckett's presence. Just before leaving Atlantis, Sheppard had dragged him aside, under some flimsy pretext.

_It was fortunate that Lorne had so much respect for his commanding officer. He was struck again by just how much of a boy the other man appeared at times. Sheppard looked it now, staring awkwardly at anything but Lorne himself. Finally, the pilot sighed. He looked up. The boyishness was gone now, replaced by steely eyes that could strike fear into a Wraith._

"_We'll look after him, sir." _

_Sheppard's eyes flashed. "We? I want you to look after him, Lorne."_

"_I'll do my b-"_

"_Not. Good. Enough." Sheppard stopped short. He seemed to realized only now that he had one hand clenched tightly around the Major's upper arm. He dropped it fast. "Bring him back."_

If there was one thing Evan Lorne intended to do on this mission, it was obey his order. He gratefully accepted a heavily laden plate of food, and a thick-walled silvery cup. It was filled with water. Their hosts had anticipated many of the concerns that plagued travelling teams. Was this safe for them to eat? Was that safe to drink? They had offered their simplest fare, on the grounds that it was less likely to interfere with stomachs unused to their food.

It smelled wonderful. Atlantis had been running light on stock recently. The last shipment from the Daedalus had consisted largely of MREs, and not good ones at that. So Lorne found himself tucking in with relish, after Beckett gave the meals a cursory glance. To a palate too often used to tasteless pseudo-food, the flavours were incredible. Lorne thought he tasted cumin seeds and chilli peppers in the soft, chewy bread.

"No!"

The shout brought the Atlantis team to their feet. A young man leapt across the circle. He smashed a cup from Beckett's hands. Lorne stepped forward, ready to protect the doctor.

"Wait." One of the village elders said gently, resting a hand on the Major's arm. "I will deal with him."

The elder, Lorne remembered, was Edwyn. The young man – not much more than a boy, really – was one of those who had stumbled upon the Atlantean team as they took their first steps on this world. Penraith had seemed harmless then, but his stance was aggressive now.

Edwyn forced Penraith back. "What is the meaning of this? Why do you attack our honoured guest?"

The boy scowled, and held out a shaking hand. "Ask him!"

One of the servers, a younger boy, scuttled behind one of the Marines. He was dragged out again by his mother. "I didn't mean it!" he pleaded.

"Mean what?" Lorne's edginess was roaring now.

"I – I-"

Penraith marched over to the nearly-empty cup and brandished it. "He gave the doctor nerva root. Idiot."

"Nerva root? What the bloody hell is nerva root?" Beckett's voice began to rise sharply in pitch. "What have I been drinking?"

"It is not harmful." Edwyn reassured him. "Many of our people drink it. We simply do not offer it to outsiders. They – don't like it."

Lorne frowned. "Why don't they like it?"

"It makes you see and know more than is possible without. For some people that is too much."

Penraith snorted. "It is used by soothsayers and dreamers, to see the past and the future. All they see is nonsense, dreamt up by the root." He snapped angrily.

"Penraith, control yourself." Edwyn said. "It is perfectly safe."

"What is it?"

"A – device."

Lorne was pretty damn sure he didn't like the sound of that. "What do-"

"People take it, and they see pretty pictures in their head." Penraith snarled. "Only sometimes they're not so pretty." He sobered quickly. "Some of the younger villagers, they take it to – to feel good."

"Penraith has tried nerva root. I doubt it is an experience he will repeat. _Without close supervision_."

Obviously this was a sore point. Lorne tried to guide them back to the matter at hand. "Any idea how it will affect the Doc?"

Edwyn shook his shaggy head. "None."

* * *

"I don't need a blood test." Beckett grumbled.

Keller didn't even bother to respond. She knew she made a horrible patient herself.

"Ouch!"

Sheppard looked on with clear amusement. "Now you know how we feel, Doc."

She withdrew the first lot of blood. McKay sat down with a thump. His face was drawn and pale. If she hadn't known that the man had an aversion to the sight of blood, she might have admitted him as a patient.

"Shut up." Beckett snapped. "At least I'm not a bloody vampire." Keller glared at him. The Scot had the decency to look abashed. "Sorry."

"And you tell us we're unreasonable."

Keller stepped in before the situation got any worse. "One more word, and everyone is out of here." She said. Catching the gleam in Beckett's eye, she corrected herself. "Everyone _except_ you, Carson."

The early return of Lorne's team had worried everyone. Their concern had not abated when the Major explained the reasons for their abrupt departure from the safe and friendly village they had stumbled upon. For their part, SGA-1 had turned up in the infirmary only minutes after Lorne's team had arrived. First Sheppard, on the pretext that he wanted to get a preliminary report (though Keller conceded that it had the virtue of being a version of the truth). Then McKay, who had mysteriously developed all the symptoms of flu – without having any of the symptoms of flu. These wonders of nature flew the coop as soon as he caught sight of Beckett.

From then, Keller had counted the seconds before Teyla and Ronon turned up, though both the Pegasus Galaxy natives had taken the hint a while ago, and left her to work in piece. She held no illusions. They would be back soon enough.

"Sit still, Carson."

He scowled, but gave in. Keller withdrew two more vials of blood, before taking out the needle. They were all distracted when Carson stopped talking, right in the middle of grumbling about being confined to the infirmary (an irony that would have been lost on no one, had they been listening). He blinked, twice. Then, just as suddenly as he had stopped talking, the Scot started again.

"You can't do that. It's not right. She says we're on our own now, y'know. Aye." He said, muttering in a low voice that didn't seem to belong to him.

Lorne leapt off the bed he had been sitting on. He placed a gentle hand on Keller's shoulder, and drew her away. Beckett's face had flushed suddenly. Breaths came sharp, and sudden. The doctor raved quietly to himself, muttering short sentences that no one could make sense of.

"Doc?" Lorne said softly. "Doc, are you feeling OK?"

A pair of stormy blue eyes flashed open. They fixed Lorne in a fierce gaze. "You don't know anything about it."

"Why don't you tell me, Doc?"

"They'll speak to him, if I don't tell you."

Lorne pressed on, encouraged by Beckett's – admittedly bizarre – response to him. "Who's they?"

The gaze turned angry, then cruel. "Aye, and I suppose you want to know everything then? You'll be wanting blood next."

Something about the way those words came out – twisted and cruel, unlike Beckett even in his recent dour moods – sparked a reaction. Sheppard and Lorne dove towards the bed as he began to launch himself at Keller. The shocked CMO staggered backwards, crashing into Rodney. They stood aside as a burly nurse ran in.

"Put the restraints on him, before he hurts someone." Keller shouted, over Beckett's incoherent screams.

Sheppard wrestled one arm down. "We're trying!" he yelled back.

The nurse laid himself completely across Beckett's legs to stop the doctor kicking out. That left Sheppard free to help Lorne clamp his right arm into a cuff. One foot came free and flew out. It caught the nurse on the temple. He crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap. Beckett tried to headbutt Lorne, but missed by inches.

"Little help here!" Sheppard called frantically.

All Keller and McKay could do was stand back as the rest of Lorne's team threw themselves into the fray. They stared in horror at the spectacle of Carson Beckett, finally in restraints, throwing himself from side to side, screaming at his captors.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer - Not mine. Just borrowed.

A/N - Thanks to reviewers and readers alike - to those of you who have not reviewed, I'd love to hear what you think of the story so far. At the moment it's mostly about the reactions to Carson's illness, but he may have a more direct role to play later on. There are two chapters currently in development. So hopefully, updating won't be too much of a problem. Enjoy!

* * *

Rodney typed furiously. He paused for a second, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Work had been an easy refuge. While the others had gone to the mess hall with Sheppard, he had retreated to his lab. Any stragglers who had been working in the room already cleared out minute after their boss' arrival. They recognized that look in his eyes.

It was ironic really. He had done more work in the past three hours than in the previous day. Rodney wasn't sure what that said about his usual work ethic. He shifted uncomfortably. The chairs were a relic from their arrival in Atlantis. He had found them uncomfortable then, and time had not been kind. The physicist grabbed his cup of coffee, and downed it in one gulp.

Shaking his head free of images that made him sick, Rodney began to type again. He couldn't think about his best friend, screaming and thrashing around in the infirmary that had once been his to run. He couldn't think about Lorne and his men, eating the dinners that Ronon had carefully guarded. It had been hard to trust them with Beckett' s safety in the first place. Rodney rubbed his aching stomach. The coffee – though it was cold – seemed to burn.

He was so intent on solving this latest potential problem in the Ancient computer systems – on forgetting, even for a few hours, the raving lunatic Beckett had become – that he didn't hear a familiar set of light footsteps entering the lab. It was only when Teyla sat down next to him that Rodney realised she was there.

"Can I help you?"

Teyla ignored his rude greeting. "Come and sit with us. Ronon has saved you some-"

Rodney edged himself closer to the computer screen. "Why, so I can hear about how it's not their fault that Beckett's gone crazy? No, thank you." He snapped.

"Rodney…"

"Please. Go away." His face flushed bright red. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be working on a way to save the city the next time some stupid Marine screws everything up."

"You don't mean that."

"Really? Every time they do something wrong, it's me they turn to. Me that they expect to fix everything. Me, or…"

Teyla took hold of his face. "Or Carson?" He tried to look away. "Please. Come and sit with us."

The energy that had driven Rodney for the past few hours drained away. He sagged back against his chair.

"I can't- I trusted them to keep him safe."

"There are no guarantees, Rodney. In this galaxy or your own."

He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well – I guess that's true."

"I hear they have chocolate cake." Teyla raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure, if we're quick-"

Rodney allowed himself to follow her out of the lab. He didn't tell her – very sure that it would have raised alarm bells – that the idea of chocolate cake just made him feel nauseous.

* * *

Sweat rolled down Beckett's face faster than the duty nurse could sponge it away. His head tossed from side to side. Strained muscles pulled at the soft restraints meant to keep a patient from harm. The doctor mumbled words that nobody could understand, his distinctive accent thickened beyond comprehension. A cold cloth slipped from his forehead, soaking the pillow. The nurse discarded it. She dipped another into her bowl of water, and gently patted it back in place.

"It'll be OK, Carson." She said softly.

His eyes seemed to fix on her, though the words that spilled out of his mouth at a mile a minute made no more sense. It was cruel, she thought, to see him like this. Flushed face, matted hair and compulsively clenching muscles made Carson look like a madman. Emma admonished herself. She had been a mental health nurse once – a long time ago, back on Earth. She knew better than to think that way.

"You'll be better soon."

She had been repeating these words for hours, trying to calm him down. To some extent it had worked. Though he pulled against the restraints, the violence that had forced their use was gone. Privately, Emma thought he was just exhausted. She sponged some of the sweat away.

"How is he?"

Emma glanced up at Doctor Keller. The younger woman looked tired and worried. "Still warm."

Carson's eyes rolled back in his head, revealing a thin crescent of white between the lids. Keller's eyes darted up to the small machine monitoring his temperature.

"He's got a temperature of 104 and rising." She said anxiously.

"Should I keep going?" Emma paused, the wet cloth hovering over the bowl. "I'm not sure it's doing any good." She confessed.

"Let's get him some anti-fever medication. Hopefully that will stop it completely." Keller said. She grabbed the medications from a nearby cupboard, and prepped an IV.

She stepped back from her patient's bedside and waited nervously till Carson's thrashing movement slowed to a near-halt. Keller found herself fighting back tears. She had no idea how long the side-effects of the drug would last, and if this was any indication, the rest of the experience would be equally unpleasant.

"That's it." She said softly, almost to herself. "We can't risk giving him anything else. He's just gonna have to ride this one out."

His head rolled to one side, facing the two women. The eyes which were normally kind and fiercely protective, lay half-open, with pin-prick pupils. Keller closed her own eyes. She could hardly recognize the man lying in the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - OK, things start to happen here, and there's hints of what is to come in this chapter. Faint ones, anywho. Please enjoy - Read and Review.

* * *

Ronon gripped the metal bar tightly. It had been two days since Lorne, Beckett and the others had returned to Atlantis. Since then, things had gone rapidly downhill. After he had been restrained, Beckett continued to fight against demons only he could see. His temperature spiked so high that Keller had begun to panic. It was falling now, but slowly. Ronon wondered how long a man's body could stand to be like this before it started to struggle. He bit his lip.

His reputation was as an unemotional man, more used to fighting than anything else. In some ways, it was fair. But now, as a part of Atlantis, Ronon found himself surrounded by people who gave a damn. It was hard not to return the favour. The Doc had been nothing but good to him since the moment they met. As far as the Satedan was concerned, you had to respect a man who was so often terrified of things, but went ahead and did them anyway.

He shifted on his toes, too tired to do anything but stand and watch Beckett's chest rise and fall. Sheppard had wanted to come with him. Instead, Teyla had made him take a break. There had been some talk of cancelling the weekly film after news of Beckett's condition had spread through the city. Unsurprisingly, the Atlantis grapevine ate that one up. He grunted to himself. One day, he'd find out who the gossips were, and persuade them that you didn't talk about the good guys like they weren't around to hear it.

Ronon slumped into a chair. He flipped a knife around his fingers. This was making life on Atlantis more tense than usual. Even after they had realised how badly Beckett was being affected by the nerva root, things had not been this bad. It had really started with the dinner Sheppard had insisted on. He was right – they'd needed to eat. Ronon had taken enough food to keep a small army going. Nobody had complained; even if they didn't already know what was happening, they had seen trouble often enough to recognize the signs. He had even taken an extra slice of cake, for McKay.The frightened look on the scientist's face had not passed him by.

The dinner had started badly. Sheppard had forced Lorne's team to take their seat. Lorne himself was chalk-white. He had barely looked at his food, let alone eaten any of it. Then McKay had arrived, and the atmosphere had become frosty. It was clear that the scientist was furious with the Marines, even if he was good enough not to say so. Ronon found himself wishing things could be as black and white as they had seemed when he'd been a Runner.

Looking over at Beckett didn't make him feel any better. The doctor's temperature was, Keller had assured him, nothing more than a low-grade fever, but he looked uncomfortable still. Ronon slid the knife back into his boot. He hated waiting around.

"Hey big guy."

Ronon didn't bother turning around. "Sheppard."

The pilot joined him at their friend's side. "He looks terrible."

"Keller says he's doing better."

"She does, huh? That's something." He said. Sheppard leant against the railings of the bed. "You know Lorne's tearing himself up about this."

"Yeah?"

"You think I should talk to him?"

"You're asking me?"

Sheppard scowled. "Yes. I'm asking you. Is that so hard to believe?"

Ronon shrugged. "Now you sound like McKay."

They shared an uneasy laugh. Since Beckett's collapse, the physicist had been almost impossible to find. Ronon was sure that Zelenka knew where his boss had been, but the Czech scientist hadn't said a word.

"Yeah." Ronon said. "You should talk to him."

Sheppard sighed. "That's what I was afraid of."

Ronon grunted again. He pushed a chair towards Sheppard. If they were going to be there all night, they might as well make themselves comfortable.

* * *

Beckett's eyes flickered open. Everything seemed fuzzy. No, that wasn't the right word. It was as though he was looking out at a world that was not his own. He blinked again. A little of the fog cleared, but the distance was still there. Beckett's head rolled to the side, onto a cool, crisp bit of pillow. He frowned. The material – bright-white, and just a little scratchy – seemed familiar. The words wouldn't form in his head; they didn't seem to exist just now. He tried to focus. The world tilted. Beckett swallowed. He would not try that again.

"Carson, you're awake!"

He tried to respond to the voice, but his eyes were sliding shut. Beckett put everything into his vocal chords. Instead of speaking, he could only manage an incoherent moan. Slowly but surely, the world faded into the background, and Beckett was returned to a place he really did not want to be.

* * *

Keller sighed. She knew that his being conscious so early was good news, but it was frustrating not to get any real response from him. Medical training be damned, she wanted Carson Beckett to get better now, and stop lying around in her infirmary.

She checked the IV – not that she needed to. Between her, Emma, and every other member of the infirmary staff who had been on duty since Beckett had fallen ill, it was under almost constant supervision. Just like the man it was attached to. Keller scribbled a note in his chart. She allowed herself a small smile. With this news, it would become even harder to keep SGA-1 away. She fully expected that to become part of her daily schedule for the foreseeable future.

"Come on, Carson." She said, patting his hand. "Get better so I can keep those guys out of here."

Her own shift was coming to an end. Keller knew she should leave – find some food, or just crash. She deserved both, in reality. Instead, she sat down next to the man who's job she had taken over, and started to talk. Keller spoke about the Replicators and Weir; about the number of times SGA-1 and Lorne's team had gotten into trouble; about everything he had missed. There were some things you didn't get a feel for in mission reports.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer - Not mine. If they were, I'd be rich. And we wouldn't be having this conversation.

A/N - OK, so things actually happen in this chapter (who'da thunk it?!). All kidding aside, I hope you like this, as it was a bit rushed, and not terribly thoroughly checked. Just thought I'd post it to keep up the momentum. Plus, stuff does happen in this, and Carson the 'space cadet' makes his reappearance. There's much more to come though. At least, I kinda hope so. Thanks for the very kind reviews - Asugar, Deana, SgtGroganSG, Taya Swan, jennamajig, Moonlight83, Mice2. I have messaged several of you to say thanks, but if I haven't, I humbly apologise. On the plus side, it's probably because I got distracted by writing some more of the story. Yay! Also thanks to the kind people who've added me to story alerts, etc. Please, read, enjoy, review. Merci beaucoup.

A/N (part 2) - Read on for this to make sense. I'm not particularly a John Wayne fan. It was just the first name that occurred to me. That said, you should watch _Stagecoach_ and _The Searchers_.

* * *

His head was thumping like a marching band. That was the first thing Carson noticed when his eyes flickered open for the second time. Everything seemed so bright compared to where he had come from. And that, in itself, was a mystery to him now, lost in fever and sickness. He didn't like being so utterly confused. Beckett focused himself on trying to get somebody's attention.

There were voices, that much he knew. More than two of them. Carson let his head fall to the side, and instantly regretted it. The world _tilted_ sharply. He closed his eyes, and tried to make everything balance again. He didn't like being confused. He opened them again, and was relieved to find that his field of vision was improved. It also wasn't doing an impression of a carousel; all bright lights and blurring. Carson tried to speak. His mouth was so dry. Swallowing didn't help – made it worse, actually.

The voices were low, as if trying to avoid disturbing somebody. He wondered if maybe it was him they didn't want to disturb. He wasn't sure that made sense. Carson squinted. He made out first one figure, sitting on a bed (sideways to him), then two more, standing nearby. They were familiar. He knew that their names should be instantly there, but somehow they were like fog. He tried to speak again. All that came out was a throaty sound, and that worried him.

Carson looked around frantically. As much as he could without moving his head. The marching band was right behind his eyes. It made him feel sick, with every pulsing thump. He tried lifting his hand. Everything felt like lead. He was so confused. There was something pinching his finger. Carson knew he ought to understand what it was. The knowledge was there, somewhere in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. The pain was fading, but not enough that he could focus.

"B-" he croaked. They didn't hear him. "B-"

He tried to lift his hand again – was faintly surprised when he managed to do it. Carson squinted at the strange thing on his finger. He knew it was meant to do something important. Something to do with looking after him. A thought passed through his head. By chance, Carson caught it. He took hold of it, relieved.

* * *

"Why was he so important?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Because he was John Wayne!" Trying to explain the importance of the Western hero to Ronon was proving difficult.

"Typical." Rodney muttered, a little too loud. "Kirk likes John Wayne."

"Shut up, Rodney. Who was your hero, Newton?"

"Who's Newton?"

"My hero was not Newton."

"Keep it down in here!" The three men turned guiltily to see Keller standing in the doorway, looking annoyed. "I have patients who need their rest."

They all studiously avoided looking at Beckett. He was, of course, the reason they had been haunting the infirmary for the past few days. Keller had been driven to distraction, between trying to control her patient's fluctuating temperature, and attempting to control her patient's many concerned visitors. It seemed like half the city had been by, just to see how he was doing.

"Sorry, Doc." Ronon said.

Sheppard tried to look innocent, but failed miserably. "We were trying to explain John Wayne to Ronon."

Keller rolled her eyes. She turned to the Satedan and cleared her throat. "Big movie star. Lots of shooting. Lots of violence. Pretty much always the hero."

Ronon nodded. "I get it."

"And you didn't get it from the last fifteen minutes Kirk spent trying to explain the John Wayne phenomenon?"

"Stop calling me Kirk!"

"What was that noise?" Ronon said.

They all dutifully stopped to listen, but heard nothing. Then just as McKay opened his mouth, a faint 'clink' disturbed the peace and quiet of the infirmary. Ronon slipped off the edge of the bed, and looked round. He stopped suddenly. The others waited. A smile threatened at the edge of his mouth.

"The Doc's awake." He said.

Keller had thought she would have to tackle them to stop the trio going over right away. She was surprised when they hung back. It occurred to her that they had been in this situation – or ones like it – so often that they knew exactly what to do. She smiled at Beckett, and walked over to him. Gently, she bent down a little to look him in the eye.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" she asked. "Want some ice chips?"

His eyes were very glazed still, as if the drug had not quite let go its vicious hold. But Beckett managed, somehow to focus on her. "B-" he said, trying to speak. Frustration marred his face.

"Don't worry about it." Keller reassured him. "You've been very sick."

A cup of ice chips appeared next to her. The doctor turned to find McKay standing there, trying to be inconspicuous. Keller offered him a smile, inwardly amused that the scientist was being so sweet. She had long known that McKay was much softer than he tried to appear, but it was always interesting to see the evidence. She took the cup gratefully. He retreated back to join the others.

Giving Beckett an ice chip seemed to satisfy the anxious man. He looked up at her, more focused now. "Je-" he croaked. "Jen-"

"What's he trying to say?" Sheppard asked. He was trying to be calm, but the pilot's outwardly relaxed nature masked a man occasionally as uptight as McKay.

Keller turned slightly. "My name, I think."

She was rewarded with a crooked, faint smile for that. "Sick?" he croaked.

"You drank something on a planet. It made you very sick for a few days. But you're doing much better now."

"Oh."

"Don't worry, Carson. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

"O-" he coughed, wincing with pain. "Others?"

Keller frowned. "What-" she started, before realizing what he meant "-oh, Major Lorne and his men are fine. You were the only one who drank it." Carson's eyes slid closed. She waited till she was sure, then turned back to her audience. "He's asleep."

"Again?" McKay grumbled.

They all knew he didn't mean it. The scientist's brusque of dealing with these situations could be hard to understand at first, but they had all seen him this way before. Ronon rolled his eyes, and grabbed McKay by the collar. Sheppard followed the pair out the door, grinning at the scientist's annoyed squawking. Keller shook her head in despair. She could have sworn she heard Ronon asking who Newton was. The doctor turned towards her patient. Checking over her shoulder quickly, Keller leant down to whisper in Beckett's ear.

"Get well soon, Carson. I need a sensible voice round here!" she said.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Another quick update (there's no way this pace is going to continue, but I'm just gonna go with it till the inspiration dries up or real life gets in the way). Thanks to readers and reviewers, I hope you all enjoy this latest chapter. Read on!

* * *

McKay wandered into the infirmary, half focused on the report in his hands. Though Atlantis worked mainly by computer, they still went through a lot of paper. Which meant he had to read a lot of pointless reports by scientists who didn't have a damn clue what they were doing. He scowled at a particularly inane line, skirting past an errant trolley of bandages with practiced ease.

He skirted around the edge of an infirmary bed, before landing in a chair which had not moved for the past three days. McKay looked up at the bed's occupant. He jumped up again. Carson's face was twisted with pain.

"Is there something wrong?"

The doctor cracked open one eye. His expression spoke volumes. "Only that you're loud, Rodney."

He had the good grace to look embarrassed, and sit quietly. "Sorry." Rodney said. "I take it you still have a headache then?"

"Aye."

It had been like this ever since Carson had woken up the second time. He had been lucid, and even able to hold a conversation, once the last of the drug had cleared his system, but a powerful migraine seemed to have settled in for the duration. The infirmary lights had been dimmed. All of Carson's visitors were supposed to be run by Keller. Naturally, Rodney had been ignoring that particular procedure.

"Didn't Keller give you something for that?"

"Aye."

She had, actually, several times. None of the traditional migraine medications seemed to be working, which lead them both to believe that rather than it being an after-effect of his battle against the drug, it was a symptom of it which had lingered. It had improved over the last three days. _At least_, Carson thought, _it doesn't feel like my head will explode_.

The previous day, Keller had made an offer that he would have jumped at, had he been able to.

_Carson tried to lift his head, suddenly aware that it was resting against Ronon's chest. The world had started to spin like a centrifuge. It would do for days, on-and-off. He swallowed. The nausea which seemed to be ever-present was spiking. The doctor prayed that he would be able to manage this simple feat without throwing up._

"_You OK, Doc?"_

_Carson could have cried. In fact, his head hurt so much, he wasn't all that sure that he didn't. He was glad Keller had asked Ronon to assist. The others were good friends, but often loud and boisterous. _

"_You don't look so good."_

_He opened an eye, offering Ronon a watery smile. "Don't hold back."_

"_Just saying."_

"_Aye, thanks."_

_He still couldn't speak in long sentences. Even short ones required immense concentration, to drag the right words up out of the fog. Beckett scowled. He was tired of being ill._

"_Carson. How does it feel?"_

_That wasn't Ronon. He turned his head to the other side, carefully holding back the grimace that would have given him away. "Doctor Keller. It's fine."_

"_Really." She didn't look convinced. "I can't help you if you lie to me, Carson."_

_He groaned. "Alright. Highland Fling in my head. Stomach hurts."_

_That was one more humiliation Beckett wanted rid of sooner rather than later. His arms and hands were far too weak to hold a fork or spoon. The nurses – bless them – had been taking turns to feed him at strictly regulated mealtimes. Keller had banned anyone else from it. He was glad. He didn't think he could have stood any of his close friends feeding him._

"_You have to eat."_

"_You eat."_

The strange vertigo which had plague him since sitting up had faded, and Beckett was beginning to feel guilty about being rude to Keller. He couldn't quite formulate an apology though. The words were there, but they would not form themselves into a sentence.

Rodney was looking at him strangely. "Do you want me to go?" he asked. "If you just need peace and quiet – I can go. They're messing up another experiment in the lab."

Carson smiled. "No. Stay. Quietly." He said.

The scientist nodded. He settled down to read his report, occasionally muttering to himself and making notes. Occasionally he looked up at Carson as the other man faded in and out of sleep, but never disturbed him.

* * *

He was bored. Actually, if there was another definition for someone who was so bored they were willing to request an update on how Botany's latest experiments were going, Carson wanted to know it. He had just managed to stop himself. Staring at the walls all day had lost its appeal after the migraine receded and became a manageable headache. Rodney and the others were all busy somewhere else in the city.

It didn't seem quite fair that they had been able to visit him when he hadn't been well enough to appreciate it. Carson wanted a distraction _now_. He kicked absent-mindedly at the edge of the bed. He knew that he was being unreasonable. The doctor shifted against his pillows and reached for the book on the little bedside table. It was _The Maltese Falcon_. Beckett had been loaned the book by Lorne, who had turned out to be quite a fan of Dashiell Hammett.

He flicked through the worn pages, hoping that some of the words might jump out and grab his attention. With a sigh worthy of record, Beckett tossed the book back onto the table. It was useless. He would tackle Keller about being released from the infirmary when she came to see him later. A smile crossed his face. Working out how best to talk her into it would take up plenty of time.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Have had almost no trouble writing this bit, which worries me a little! The words flowed so easily - is it like that for some people ALL the time?!

Once again, thanks to my readers, and especially those who have added this story to their alerts. Special thanks to the reader who has added this as a favourite story - **Taya Swan**, your support is appreciated.

To the lovely reviewers (thus far) of Chapter 8 - **Deana**, **Moonlight83** and **SgtGroganSG** - merci beaucoup. SG, there's more Lorne in this one for you. ;)

Please, read, enjoy and review. Gracias!

* * *

In retrospect, it had been a mistake trying to convince Keller that he was well enough to leave her infirmary. First, because she had not been impressed by his attempts. In fact, she had threatened to sedate him if he kept up the constant badgering that had started as soon as she'd stepped through the door for her scheduled shift. Carson had been reduced to sulking instead. Second, because if he was truthful, leaving would have proven difficult. The drug had taken a fierce hold, and Carson still felt very weak. He knew that leaving now, unsure of whether it had anymore surprises in store for him, could be very dangerous.

That said, he had been giving Keller the silent treatment ever since. Even her attempts to placate him earlier had fallen on deaf ears. The CMO had cut her losses. Seeing that Carson was going to be childish, she had retreated to the safety of her office. The office that he still, in unguarded moments, thought of as his own.

"Hey Carson." Rodney walked in with his face buried in a book, as though his presence in the infirmary was coincidental.

The Canadian crossed the room without raising his eyes for a second. He slumped into a chair. It hadn't moved since Carson had woken up from his drug-induced haze.

"Hello." He muttered shortly.

Rodney looked up in surprise. "Well aren't you in a good mood? I thought the headache was gone."

"Who the hell told you that?"

"Uh – nobody. I just assumed."

Carson grunted. He closed his eyes against the bright lights of the infirmary, and missed the look of worry that plastered itself across Rodney's face. The physicist glanced towards Keller's office, but didn't move.

"Rodney, I'm not really in the mood for company."

"I thought you might be bored."

"I am. I just don't want people hanging round, making my headache worse again." He snapped.

Rodney sat forward. "I can come back later, if you want."

"Aye, that's a good idea."

The physicist looked relieved. He stood up to go, and watched as Carson's eyes drifted shut. The exhaustion was starting to make Beckett woozy. It pulled at his bad temper, making him feel as though nobody could do or say anything right. He wondered faintly if he would ever feel normal again.

* * *

Rodney glanced over his shoulder for one last look at his friend before leaving the infirmary. It wasn't like Carson to be so short-tempered. He had only visited at Sheppard's urging. They were friends – Rodney considered the doctor his best friend- but the physicist had found himself caught up in projects. Sheppard had come to see him in his lab. The way he told it, Beckett was dying of boredom. Rodney had only managed to provoke an already alarmingly hostile man.

He stopped halfway down the corridor, before something horrifying occurred to him. He tapped his earpiece. Going back to chewing his fingernails seemed like a really good idea right about now.

"Sheppard?"

It took a few moments for the reply to come though. When it did, crackling and damaged by static, Sheppard sounded terse and irritable. "What's up, Rodney?"

"I think we might have a small problem." He was already by the infirmary doors. Rodney peeked in, accidentally triggering the door. A small projectile whistled past his hairline. He flattened himself against an outside wall, suddenly terrified to move. "Make that - a really _big_ problem."

* * *

Lorne couldn't help but feel apprehensive about the mission. Edwyn and the other villagers had treated them with nothing but kindness since Penraith and his friends had dragged a group of heavily armed strangers into the heart of their small community. It was nonsensical to be afraid, especially after all he had seen, and yet the stalwart Major was trembling. He had managed to hide it from his team as they stepped through the stargate, but as they approached the settlement, Lorne found his breathing quickened. He didn't like this feeling. Either he was panicking – an almost alien feeling – or Sergeant Lawrence was starting to look attractive.

He grimaced. That really would make him panic. Even if men had been his thing – and Evan Lorne considered himself broadminded, but strictly heterosexual – Lawrence wouldn't have been his first choice. There was a face only a mother could love. A shudder ran along his broad shoulders.

"S'up, sir?"

Olivier. The boy was a menace. "Speak English." Lorne said, through gritted teeth. He hadn't wanted the careless young soldier on his team.

"What's wrong, sir?"

Lorne opened his mouth, ready to castigate Olivier for not paying attention, when Penraith's moody profile appeared on the hill in front of them. The boy trailed halfway down before stopping. It looked like his participation in this meeting was reluctant, at best. Lorne and his men made up the distance, only for Penraith to turn his back. The boy lead them to his village, saying barely a word on the walk. It was enough to tell Lorne that he'd been punished with this duty. It surprised him; the boy had been sunny and helpful before what Olivier referred to as "Beckett-gate". Talking of young men in trouble – that had earned Olivier the worst duties Colonel Sheppard could think of for two weeks. Lorne almost pitied him.

When they finally reached the village, Penraith showed them to the central circle, where they had enjoyed the feast before "Beckett-gate". Lorne reminded himself sharply not to say that out loud. The weather was good enough still for the villagers to enjoy a fire at night. A few of the elders were loitering in small groups, talking about their children, and the crops that would soon need to be harvested. Penraith stood awkwardly in front of Edwyn and two other adults Lorne did not recognize.

"The visitors…" he muttered.

Edwyn looked up. A broad smile spread across his friendly face. "It is good to see you again, Major Lorne." He waved Penraith away. "Off you go."

"Good to be back, Edwyn. How's everybody?"

"Very well, thank you. Troublesome youths aside." He glared at Penraith, who was beating a hasty retreat. "Set a hut alight two days ago. Foolish accident. I fear he will be repaying that debt into his old age."

"Teenagers."

"Indeed." Edwyn said. The smiled dropped. He sprung to his feet, managing to completely ignore the P90s that jerked upwards out of habit. "Forgive my rudeness! How is Doctor Beckett?"

Lorne smiled. "Much better, thank you. He's got a bad headache, but that's about all."

"Really?" Edwyn looked surprised. "Well, how fortunate."

The village elder gestured for them to follow him. Edwyn had explained on their previous visit that it was customary to show visitors around if there was more than a few days between each sighting of the village, to see any changes. Lorne went along with it. He remembered how uncomfortable he'd found the fireside logs.

"May I ask how your Doctor Beckett reacted to the nerva root?"

Lorne nodded. He had cleared it with both Colonel Sheppard and Woolsey, on the grounds that the village could become a valuable trading partner. "Yes – Beckett became violent at first." He said. "Then he had a very high temperature for a few days. Woke up with a migraine – a bad headache – but there have been no other ill-effects."

He almost ran into Edwyn when the older man stopped short. A grave expression coloured his normally genial face. Lorne found his heart sinking with dread.

"What is it?"

Edwyn hesitated. "Did he…" he trailed off. "Some of our villagers have reacted to nerva root badly before now. Most of them were raving for much longer than Doctor Beckett. Though they all recovered eventually."

"And?"

"Some of them – seemed to get better for a short time."

Lorne did not like where this was going. "And afterwards?"

"They returned to violence."

Looking back, Lorne couldn't remember ever having moved so quickly. His team was back at the stargate before Penraith had even reached them. They spilled through the other side. A bewildered gateroom awaited an explanation. Lorne gestured for everyone to follow him. It didn't take very long for his CO to realize where they were going. Sheppard stepped out in front of his second-in-command.

"What's going on, Lorne?"

The Major's face was stern. "Based on the information we got from the planet, we could have a small problem."

"That's what McKay said."

"Beckett could relapse any minute."

Rodney appeared, as if from nowhere, looking pale and grim. "Too late." He said. "He's holding a scalpel to the Nurse Wainright's throat."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Thanks for the reviews. **Jersey13** - as I wrote to you, I _completely_ agree, the plot of this story is a wee bit thin. It's meandered too much, and I've had to rein it in from my inital plans (which were a tad sketchy anyway!). And to explain the matter further - this was supposed to be my ONLY Atlantis story. Ever. Unfortunately, I found myself using it as a practise piece. Kind of a pain, as I really wanted to explain the whole nerva root thing in much greater depth (maybe a project for the future?). In any case, I am now planning another story. Damn. The moral being? Don't write a fic for a show if you don't want to end up writing more than one...

The next story will be far more involved, and include the kind of weaving together of plot threads that I usually use in my stories. It may start from a similar point to this one, or from some point _after_ this (which probably makes everything as clear as mud!). In the meantime, please enjoy Crazy Carson, and review. Grazie.

* * *

They huddled in the hallway, just a few feet from the infirmary door. Lorne had sent two of his men with Woolsey, to monitor the situation from a safer distance. That left them with Sergeant Lawrence, probably the most reliable member of his team. Lawrence had already drawn his gun. It made Rodney's blood run cold, but he recognized the need. If they could not talk Beckett down, they would have to use force. He swallowed, trying to reassure himself with the fact that these men were very good shots.

"What's the situation in there?" Sheppard hissed.

"I don't know! I came to find help! For all I know…" Rodney's voice trailed off in the middle of his tirade. They avoided each other's eyes. That sentence had struck too close.

Before anyone could stop him, Rodney was at the infirmary doorway, snug against the outside wall. It was easy enough from there to take a subtle look into the room. He pulled back almost immediately, his face so sheet-white that Lorne worried he might pass out.

Rodney wasn't sure which had been more disturbing – the scalpel held tight against Emma Wainwright's throat, or the twisted, ugly expression of the man holding it. Sweat was pouring down Carson's face in rivulets, plastering his hair against the side of his head. It reminded Rodney oddly of Sheppard. He looked again, ignoring his better judgment.

"What's going on?"

The physicist darted back over to the others. "You should hurry."

Lorne and Sheppard exchanged glances. The Major gestured for Lawrence to follow him further up the corridor, where they could take positions that would allow them a clear sight of Beckett and his hostage.

"Explain it to me, Rodney."

He looked Sheppard directly in the eye. "Carson is going downhill fast. If we don't do something soon, one of them is going to die."

Lorne must have caught that, because the Major rejoined them with a horrified expression on his face. "Edwyn told us the effects wear off."

"Well obviously not, because when I visited him-" Rodney checked his watch "-oh look, fifteen minutes ago, he looked perfectly normal. Now he looks like he ran a marathon. And he's panicking."

"Go back to your position, Major." Sheppard said.

Lorne nodded. He crept back to his place near the door. The weight of guilt was heavy on his shoulders, but he respected his CO's hold on the situation.

Sheppard turned his attention back to Rodney. "You think he'd hurt her?"

"Our Carson? No. But that's not our Carson in there." The words came a little too close to the mark, but Sheppard was good enough not to react. "There's no telling what he'll do, or why he'd do it."

A few minutes later, Rodney found himself positioned to the right of the doorway from the outside. He faced Sheppard directly. They wore twin looks of grim determination. At any other time, the similarity between the pair might have been funny.

"Carson." Sheppard called. His voice wavered. "Carson, you doing OK in there?"

Rodney looked round the edge of the doorway. The doctor looked awful. He was flushed and soaked with sweat. At least before he had been steady on his feet, but now Carson was starting to sway. The scalpel had shifted too, scraping Emma's skin. A thin trail of blood lead down her throat, tingeing her scrubs top pink. To her credit, the nurse remained calm. She was staring straight ahead. Rodney caught her eye, and tried to look reassuring. He was rewarded with a watery smile.

"Go away." The thickly accented growl was deep and angry. "Leave me alone."

"Can't do that Carson. We need you to put the knife down. Put the knife down and let Emma go."

"It's a bloody scalpel."

"OK. Put the scalpel down, and let Emma go." Sheppard conceded. "You like Emma. She's a good nurse. Just let her go, and we can talk about this."

"Leave me be."

Rodney noticed with alarm that Carson's voice was growing weaker. He knew that it should be a relief; weakness meant that he would be easier to take down. It also meant that he was getting sicker. The physicist couldn't find any pleasure in that.

"Please, Carson." There was an audible note of panic growing in Sheppard's voice. "Put down the knife."

"Colonel."

Sheppard looked over his shoulder at Lorne. He held up a hand. "Not yet, Major."

The corridor fell completely silent. Rodney watched the military men, confused by their focus. He looked back at the scene in the infirmary. It clicked. Emma was gradually edging herself and Beckett towards one of the infirmary beds. On the bed lay an Ancient device. Rodney recognized it because he'd led the initial examination into its use. Believing it to be medical, he'd put it in a pile of things labeled 'Talk Beckett Into It', and taken them down to the infirmary for his friend to switch on when he returned from a _certain_ planet. The device's main physical feature was its heavy outer shell – in other words, an effective blunt instrument.

She touched the edge of the bed. Sheppard's stance became aggressive. He drew his gun, and gestured towards Lorne and Lawrence. Rodney knew their plan would end badly. He got up and walked into the infirmary before any of them could start to move. He couldn't let Carson get shot, not after all that the doctor had been through. Sheppard's angry voice rang out behind him, but the physicist shut it out. Carson's angry eyes fixed on him. The madness in them stung Rodney. He edged closer, wary that he might make a terrible situation worse.

"Hey, Carson." He said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"What do you want?" Carson snapped. The dark suspicion was alien to his voice, and his accent had deepened so much that Rodney could barely understand him.

"Oh, I think I got a paper-cut." Rodney said. "I was hoping your voodoo could help me out."

Somewhere in the background, he could hear Major Lorne hissing furiously. _"What the hell is he trying to do?"_

"Papercut?"

The request seemed to have confused Beckett. It belonged to a reality he no longer knew. Emma's free hand snaked round behind the doctor's back. She reached blindly for the Ancient device. Rodney's eyes stayed determinedly away from her. He didn't know if Carson was aware enough to pick up on things like that, but he wasn't willing to find out. He leant casually against one of the infirmary beds and tried to look as though this situation was normal. The only thing that kept Rodney in the room was that Carson looked even more terrified than he felt.

"Yeah. You know, slice, ouch?"

The doctor's hands had started to tremble violently. "Go away."

"I would, but my finger hurts, and I can't do my experiment. If I can't do my experiment, I'll shout at- NOW!" Rodney screamed.

Emma swung the device as hard as she could. It cracked against Carson's skull, sending the doctor flying back into the bed. She ran for the doorway. Rodney watched in horror as his friend staggered to unsteady feet, and lurched angrily at the nurse. He took a split-second decision. Just as Rodney lunged for Carson, the doctor raised the scalpel.

The next thing he knew, they were both lying on the floor. Rodney groaned. He felt dazed and sick. Next to him, Carson lay unconscious. Emma was leaning over them both, examining them with shaking hands. She looked panicked. It took a moment for Rodney to work out what was wrong. Her hands were covered in bright red blood.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - So here we are. The last chapter. It's been interesting, and I'll admit, frustrating at time. The story's not quite what I envisaged it would be. But still, I'm glad I did it, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Please read, enjoy and review.

p.s. I do, as I think I mentioned in the last chapter, have another story in the works (curses!), but if anyone has any suggestions, I'll take them on board. No promises about using them, as the story is already taking some shape, but if I can fit it in and it works, I will try.

* * *

Rodney patted himself down in utter panic. He started to hyperventilate when he found the source of all the blood. The scalpel stuck straight out from his side. The world started to tilt, before disappearing completely.

"Rodney!" Sheppard barked. "Rodney, stay with us."

His sharp voice brought the physicist back to awareness. Rodney bit his lip as Emma pressed a thick towel around the scalpel. He realised that some time must have passed. Keller and another doctor were already skidding into the room at top speed. The guy Rodney did not recognize headed for Carson, while Keller made a beeline for him. She smiled at him. Rodney was sure the gesture was meant to be reassuring, but he could only think of hundreds of ways that it wasn't.

"What – what happened?" he asked weakly. "How's Carson?" Pain shot through him before anyone could answer, and the world disappeared again.

* * *

Everything had a fuzzy edge to it. Rodney knew this meant something, but he couldn't work out what. He blinked dully, not even trying to think it through. Thinking took effort; effort was difficult. That was as much reasoning as he could manage. The physicist knew he was in the infirmary. He knew that he was in pain. And he knew that the spiky-haired lunatic sitting in the chair next to his bed, managing to sleep with his limbs sprawled everywhere, was his friend John Sheppard. Rodney tried to move. An alarm went off somewhere.

If he'd been able to appreciate the situation, Rodney would have laughed. Later on, when Ronon described it to him, he did.

_Ronon sucked on the end of his spoon. Every bit of the pie was getting eaten – no wastage where the former Runner was concerned. He looked over the top of it at Rodney. The scientist was recovering well, albeit slower than he would have liked._

"_You really want to know?"_

_Rodney rolled his eyes. "About Kirk embarrassing himself in front of nurses, attractive female doctors and it spreading around the city like wildfire. No, I have no interest at all." He grinned. "Go on."_

_Ronon's smile was not a little malicious. Two days after the incident in question, Sheppard had made the mistake of playing a small practical joke on him. "OK. The alarm on your machine goes off."_

"_Why did it go off?"_

"_You woke up. You panicked, I guess." Ronon said. "Sheppard was asleep. It woke him up. He thought there was some kind of emergency. Forgot he'd left a glass of water by his feet."_

"_The genius spilled it."_

"_Yeah. Slipped over, slid across the floor, and crashed into the side of your bed." Ronon grinned. "And then Keller came in."_

Rodney was aware of that part as it happened. She came in at speed, partly to check on him, and partly to find out what the loud noise had been. The doctor collapsed into a fit of giggles when she saw Colonel Sheppard sprawled on the floor. He picked himself up, looking very embarrassed.

"Are you alright, Colonel?" Keller asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"Fine."

"Really, because you took a nasty fall there…"

"I'm. Fine."

One of the nurses exploded into a very unladylike snort, and rushed from the room. The other suddenly found one of the supply cabinets fascinating. Sheppard glared at them. He cleared his throat and gestured at Rodney.

"How's our resident genius doing?"

Keller switched back to professionalism. She checked him over quickly, but thoroughly. "He's doing very well Colonel. Stats look good, and the wound site's clean now. The scalpel didn't hit anything important."

Rodney blinked away some of the fog. _Morphine_, his brain supplied helpfully,_ it's got to be morphine if it's doing this to you_. The rest of him, as a sharp jolt of pain lanced through his body, added; _Yes, can you get some more please?_ His memory started to return. An angry face, snarling and snapping at him. A face that he had always trusted. Rodney flinched. A hand gripped his arm. Sheppard looked down at his friend with a smile.

"You're gonna be fine, Rodney." He said, with relief.

He smiled back, or tried to. The memory cleared some more, and Rodney was shocked to find who had put him in this bed. "Carson?"

Sheppard's smile faltered. "He's – fine."

"What's wrong?" he croaked.

"Nothing. You get some rest. I'll be back to visit you later."

Sheppard walked away before Rodney could object. He tried to ask Keller what was happening – why Carson was not in the infirmary where he had so clearly belonged – but the gentle darkness of sleep was already clouding his vision. Rodney's eyes closed, against his will.

* * *

It was a few days before Rodney was well enough to leave. Fortunately for him, the wound had been relatively minor. Once fixed, and healed sufficiently to satisfy Keller, it was decided that the wound would not prevent Rodney from going back to his own quarters. Sheppard had generously offered to escort him. On the way, the pilot had kept up a constant stream of light conversation, somehow managing to change the subject every time Rodney tried to ask about Beckett.

He knew the doctor was alive. He had visited the infirmary to have a dressing changed. Besides which, Rodney knew they would have told him if Beckett was dead. That knowledge had reassured him a little, but the feeling that something was very wrong would not go away. Sheppard's sudden ability to make interesting small-talk that appealed to Rodney was highly suspicious. Not one teasing word; not one indication that anything was out of the ordinary escaped the pilot's mouth. More than that though – he'd mentioned everyone but Beckett.

So it was that Rodney found himself escaping his quarters and searching for his missing friend. He knew that Beckett wasn't in the infirmary – too obvious, and besides, he wasn't back on the duty roster as of yet – but his specific location was a mystery. It wasn't long before Rodney gave up on searching 'by hand'. His wound had started to ache, and he was eager to see if the labs were still standing under Zelenka's dubious leadership anyway.

He sneaked in, and crept up behind the Czech scientist. Rodney straightened up, and tapped him on the shoulder.

Zelenka nearly hit the roof. He whirled round with wide eyes, panting and swearing in Czech. "Rodney! You nearly gave me heart attack!"

He grinned. "Sorry."

"What do you want?" Zelenka asked. His eyes narrowed. "Are you supposed to be down here?"

"No. Completely against doctor's orders. I need your help."

"Why?"

Rodney's face sobered sharply. "I need you to find Beckett."

Zelenka's face went completely blank. He waited the Czech scientist out, tapping his foot impatiently on the metal floor. Finally, the other man cracked. He waved at the door Rodney had come through.

"I saw him earlier. On a balcony- hey, where are you going?"

Rodney was already halfway out the door. "I'm going to find Carson."

Zelenka sat back in his chair and shook his head. "Why do I bother?" He muttered.

* * *

The balcony was just as dark as Rodney remembered. He stood in the doorway, watching his friend stare out into the sea. Beckett looked almost as bad as he had back in the infirmary, holding a scalpel to his nurse's throat. Still pale and drawn, the Scot looked haggard. The tension was evident in his arms and shoulders, braced against the railing. Rodney thought he could make out tears trailing down his face.

"Come on out, then." Carson said. His voice echoed and cracked in the eerie darkness.

Rodney did as his friend asked, and leant on the balcony railing next to him. Close up, things managed to become even more worrying. There were dark bags under Carson's eyes, which were themselves badly bloodshot.

"You look like crap on a stick."

That got him a sharp laugh, which almost became a sob. "Thanks, Rodney."

"What are friends for?"

Carson whirled away. He was suddenly angry, but in a way that was recognizable to Rodney. Once again, he waited, for the doctor to make the first move.

"Not for stabbing you, and holding people hostage, and-"

Rodney grabbed Carson's shoulders to keep him still. It shocked him out of his rant. "I'm only going to say this once. I don't blame you. You were high on unhappy juice. I'm fairly sure Emma doesn't blame you. You, my friend, are absolved of blame. Is that clear?" When Carson's face didn't lighten up, a thought occurred to him. "This isn't just about what happened with the nerva root, is it?"

Carson tried to turn away. When Rodney grabbed his shoulders again, the Scot shoved him, hard, against the railings. They thumped against his wound, sending waves of pain sparking through his nerves. Rodney yelped. He couldn't help but flinch as Carson turned towards him, still angry. The doctor's face fell when he realised what he'd done. He collapsed against the railings, hardly able to hold back more tears. All the fight had gone out of him now. Rodney waited until he felt able to move, before sitting down next to his friend.

"I can't do this anymore." He said, through gritted teeth. "I can't do any of _this_." A wildly flailing hand gestured around them.

Rodney waited till Carson had calmed down, just a little. "Yes you can. You have to. We'll back you up."

"You can't back me up if I keep nearly killing you."

"What do you mean, _keep_ nearly killing you?"

Carson ran a hand through already ruffled hair. "Ellia, the hybrids, _this_ – I can't be in Atlantis anymore."

"So what, you'll work at the SGC?"

The doctor shook his head. He wove a tale about a remote Scottish village where he knew of a cottage going for sale. The hamlet housed no more than thirty people, and in the winter months, often got snowed in. It was in rolling hills, many miles from the nearest town. The cottage was not in the best condition, but it would do. Beckett planned to work on it in the summers, and hole up for the winters. His eyes took on a strange glaze. It took a while for Rodney to realize that he was crying.

The physicist didn't draw attention. Instead he listened, patiently, before offering his own two cents. "It sounds beautiful, Carson."

"Aye." Rodney had never heard him so broken. "Aye, it is. But I can't go there. Not right now."

"But…"

"They wouldn't let me off Cheyenne Mountain, Rodney. Why would they let me go back to Scotland?"

"So – your friends and family?"

Carson fell silent. He looked away, unable to answer the question. Rodney swallowed. He didn't have many friends, and he didn't have much family, but the thought of being denied the ability to even speak to them was unpleasant at best. He watched the doctor out of the corner of his eye. Rodney sighed inwardly. He threw an arm round Carson's shoulders, hoping that would do the trick and yet knowing that it could not.

* * *

Carson cracked open one eye with distinct irritation. He had not been back to work since the "incident" in the infirmary more a month previously, despite everyone's best efforts to persuade him it was a good idea. Instead, he had spent most of his time in his quarters. People dropped by from time to time. Or they had at the beginning. After a while, it became obvious that he had no interest in letting them in. Carson preferred to be left alone. The only times he even left his quarters was to find food or go to his balcony. Since that last talk with Rodney, he had not been disturbed there.

He thought that the physicist might have spread the word. It would have surprised him to know that Rodney had roped Zelenka and Sheppard into the collective effort to keep the balcony empty at _all _times, so that Carson might use it whenever he needed it. The solitude had become almost comforting. So he was particularly annoyed at this rare interruption into his increasingly hermetic lifestyle.

"Open the door!"

Carson let his head fall back onto the pillow and groaned.

"If you don't open the door, I'm breaking in!"

Reluctantly the former doctor – he had handed in his notice, and was only being allowed to stay on Atlantis because it made everybody else's life that much easier – dragged himself up out of bed. Carson padded across the room in bare feet, and opened the door just a little. Rodney was standing on the other side with a smile so bright he could have powered Atlantis.

For his part, Rodney managed to keep the smile on his face despite his dismay at Beckett's appearance. The doctor had always been quite well-groomed. Now his hair was growing, and his beard too. Though he wasn't skinny by any means, it was obvious that Beckett hadn't been looking after himself. The scruffy clothes – a t-shirt so faded you couldn't read the band name emblazoned across it, and a pair of jogging bottoms that had seen better days, at one in the afternoon – completed a picture that Rodney did not like.

Carson stood aside reluctantly to let his friend in. The room was as much of a mess as he was. To his credit, Rodney did not react. Instead he guided Carson to his bed, making him sit down. Rodney rushed to the long-ignored computer that lay on an equally neglected desk. He produced a memory stick from his pocked, and plugged it in.

"What's this all about?" Carson asked wearily. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Rodney waved a hand dismissively. "Wait." He pulled up a video file from the memory stick, and turned to find a seat. It was difficult, under all the accumulated rubbish. He swept a stack of empty food packages from a plastic chair and plopped himself down in it. "I spoke to a few people, Carson, made them think about a few things, and…" He pressed play.

Carson waited, expecting very little. When a familiar face appeared on screen, it felt as though his heart had stopped. He got up, swaying gently, and touched a hand to the slightly pixellated face.

"Mum…" he whispered. He turned towards Rodney, and swept him up in tight hug. "Thank you." He said. It was all he could say without breaking down completely. "Thank you."

Rodney brushed himself down. He managed to look annoyed and immensely pleased at the same time. The physicist backed off, towards the doorway.

"Yes well. It's just a short video message. You can send one back with the next delivery." He said, off-hand as ever.

Still, even Rodney could not resist a quick look back before he left, at a friend who could now smile again. Carson's tearful grin as his mother read out a short, equally tearful message, was worth every moment of the last few weeks that he'd spent badgering everyone he knew at _every _level for this break. Rodney walked away with a smile on his face. He had a hunch that Atlantis would not be needing a new doctor after all.


End file.
